(Arata's POV)
The storm never let up.
It had been with us since the sea broke the world open, since the forests drowned and the sky turned black. Now, even as the ranger's Skarmory guided us down the marked slope, rain lashed in sheets so hard I couldn't see more than a few feet ahead. My boots sank ankle-deep into mud with every step, sucking, dragging, threatening to keep me down if I slowed even a moment.
The younger girl whimpered against the fisherman's shoulder. She was fever-hot and frighteningly light in my arms, breaths shallow, her skin clammy beneath soaked clothes. The fisherman's face was gray with exhaustion, but he trudged beside me, jaw set. His Goldeen's ball trembled faintly at his belt.
The ranger was a shadow ahead of us, Skarmory circling above, its metal wings cutting through the rain like silver knives. Every few steps, he paused, flashlight in hand, checking the painted League markers carved into the stone and trees faded, almost swallowed by moss and weather. Without him, we'd have been lost.
"Just a little farther," he called back, his voice steady even against the howl of the wind. "You'll see the walls soon."
The boy, pale and hollow-eyed, lifted his head at that, clutching the empty Poké Ball still clipped to his belt like a talisman. His lips moved soundlessly, words drowned by the storm. A prayer, maybe. Or a goodbye.
The forest broke without warning.
One moment, we were trudging through a dark maze of half-flooded trees, roots slick beneath our feet. Next, the ground dipped, and the trees fell away. My breath caught.
Through the curtain of rain, lit by jagged lightning, the walls of Vermilion rose.
They weren't beautiful, not anymore. Not proud or gleaming like the brochures showed. They were blackened, reinforced, jagged with scaffolding and sandbags. Lanterns burned along the ramparts, their flames whipped by the gale, throwing shadows of men and Pokémon across the stone.
And below the walls… chaos.
Refugees huddled in lines that twisted along the muddy ground, entire families clutching each other, their belongings wrapped in sodden blankets. Trainers barked orders, trying to keep order, their Pokémon pushing debris aside to widen the path. volunteers scrambling to salvage what they could. The air reeked of smoke and wet stone, of the sea still clinging to everything.
The sight hit me harder than the wave had. The scale of it. The sheer desperation.
We weren't alone.
The ranger waved us forward, cutting through the lines. People turned as we passed, eyes hollow, faces streaked with mud and grief. Some muttered blessings, others just stared.
A shout rose above the rain.
"Hey there! Hold up!"
A figure sprinted toward us from the shadow of the gate, yellow slicker flapping, hood plastered to her head. A young volunteer, probably not much older than me, her hands already outstretched before she even reached us.
"What happened? Who's hurt?"
"My sister," the older sister said, her voice breaking. She had her arms around her sister's legs, steadying me as I carried the younger child. "She needs help, she's poisoned. Please, she's burning up."
The volunteer didn't hesitate. She snapped a hand signal, and two more workers appeared out of the rain, hauling a stretcher between them. They moved with sharp efficiency, laying it flat in the mud as if they'd done this a hundred times already tonight.
"Set her down easy now," the volunteer urged, her voice calm but quick.
He lowered the girl onto the stretcher. She whimpered faintly, her small hand clutching his sleeve. My throat tightened. The workers lifted her in one practiced motion, moving her toward the medical tents clustered inside the gate.
Her sister darted after them, mud splashing up her legs. "Wait, I can't leave her alone!"
"You can follow her," the volunteer said firmly. "They'll let you in."
The older girl didn't even nod, she was already running.
The boy stumbled next to me, staring blankly at the retreating stretcher. His lips moved again, soundless. His hand trembled on the cracked Poké Ball.
The fisherman caught his shoulder before he collapsed entirely.
"He'll need rest," the older man rasped. His voice was hoarse from shouting against the storm. "We all do."
The volunteer's gaze flicked to him, then to me. She seemed to take in the ragged state of us, the soaked clothes, the mud, the blood at my temple, I hadn't even realized was still there. Her expression softened.
"You're safe now," she said. "We've got a camp set up inside the east gate. Food, blankets, dry clothes. Medical, if you need it. Come."
Safe.
The word felt strange. Fragile. Like glass in my hands.
We followed her past the threshold. The gates loomed above us, iron teeth braced against the storm. Guards flanked the entrance, Pokémon at their sides Arcanine, Onix, Electabuzz, eyes sharp, every muscle coiled as if expecting the sea itself to rise again and batter down the walls.
Inside, the city was unrecognizable.
Vermilion's streets, usually bustling with markets and sailors, had been stripped bare. Tarps stretched between buildings for shelter, their edges flapping wildly. Entire squares were filled with cots, each one occupied by injured trainers, children huddled under blankets, and elders staring vacantly at the rain. Fires burned in barrels, smoke rising in thin trails that mixed with the mist. Rangers moved like shadows, their uniforms dark, their Pokémon keeping patrols tight.
It wasn't a city anymore.
It was a fortress. A refuge clinging to dry ground against the ocean's hunger.
The volunteer led us to a large canvas tent pitched against the wall, its ropes groaning in the wind. Inside, it was crowded but warmer, bodies pressed together on benches, the smell of wet earth and sweat thick in the air. Other volunteers moved between them, handing out steaming mugs of broth, distributing dry clothes pulled from crates marked with League insignia.
"Sit," she said, guiding us to an empty bench near the back.
The fisherman lowered himself with a groan, his shoulders sagging. The boy sat stiff beside him, staring at the mud caked on his palms. I sat too, though my body buzzed with too much energy, too much unease, to truly rest.
I looked away. My hands were trembling. Whether from the cold or everything else, I couldn't tell.
Through the open flap of the tent, I saw the younger girl disappear into the glow of the medical bay, her sister at her side. The sight didn't ease the weight pressing down on me.
The storm hadn't stopped.
Even inside the city, behind the high black walls, it was everywhere rain hammering the tents until canvas sagged and leaked, thunder rolling across the roofs, lightning tearing the sky open with white cracks that lit the harbor.
I stepped out into it, coat wrapped tight around me, my Poké Balls clipped safe against my belt. Both battered from the last two days but alive. That mattered more than anything.
I tilted my head back. Above the harbor, beyond the clustered roofs of Vermilion, the storm raged in earnest. Lightning didn't just fork randomly anymore; it gathered. It struck with purpose, bright spears hammering into the water where silhouettes fought.
Gym trainers. Rangers, Surge
They weren't fighting the sea. They were holding it back.
The sight should've made me feel safe. Instead, it only reminded me how small we were.
How small I was.
I pulled my gaze away. I couldn't stand still, not now.
The others were inside, huddled on benches. The boy hadn't spoken since we arrived. The older sister hovered in the medical bay where her sibling lay. The fisherman Daichi that was his name, he'd muttered it when someone came by with broth, sat with his hands wrapped around the cup, staring into the steam like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
I stopped beside him.
"I'm going out," I said.
He blinked up at me, as if surfacing from miles away. "Into this storm?"
"I have to," I answered. My voice didn't shake, though my chest felt hollow. "My friend might be here. Or my aunt. I need to check."
His gaze sharpened, old grief behind it. Then he nodded once. "Then go. But keep your eyes sharp."
I squeezed his shoulder in thanks. Then I stepped back into the rain.
The camp was a maze.
Lanterns swung in the gale, throwing broken light over lines of people, carts overturned, Pokémon tethered and restless. Cries rose in every directionbchildren separated from parents, trainers calling for their partners, medics shouting for supplies. Smoke and wet stone mixed with the smell of brine still clinging to everything.
Faces blurred together. Pale, hollow, streaked with mud and grief.
I stopped at a table under a tarp where League volunteers huddled around a glowing slate. One of them a woman with hair plastered flat to her head was scrolling through names, stylus clutched in stiff fingers.
"Excuse me," I said. My voice cracked. I forced it steady. "I'm looking for someone. Rin Sato. She's she would've come in with an Abra. Small, wears glasses. She…" My words stuttered. "…she's not here, is she?"
The woman looked up, eyes soft with a kind of practiced pity. "What's her name again?"
"Rin Sato."
Her stylus tapped. Scrolled. Tap. Scroll. She shook her head.
"I'm sorry. Not in this camp."
The words hollowed me out. For a moment, I just stood there, rain dripping off the tarp above, watching her stylus keep moving, logging more names of the lost.
"…Where else?" I asked finally.
"Overflow shelters along the west block," she said. "Check there. You can ask for the records there."
My pulse hammered. My hands trembled on the slick edge of the table.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Then I turned, the storm swallowing me whole again.
The path to the west block was chaos.
The streets were slick rivers of mud, flooded up to my ankles. Rangers kept order where they could, their Pokémon braced against the crowds Machoke holding beams steady, Growlithe snarling at any wild strays that had wandered in. Above, flocks of Pidgey and Spearow carried satchels between rooftops, their wings slicing through the rain like frantic messengers.
I pushed through it all, chest tight, eyes darting, searching every face, every cluster of people. My coat was heavy with water, my boots clumsy in the mud, but I didn't stop.
Not until I saw the glow of another camp ahead, lanterns clustered under wide tarps, medics kneeling beside cots.
And on one of those cots...
"Rin!"
Her head turned weakly at her name. Glasses gone, hair plastered to her face, one arm bound in bandages. Her Abra was curled at her side, its glow faint but steady.
My legs nearly gave out.
I stumbled forward, dropping to my knees in the mud beside her.
"You..." My voice cracked. "You made it."
Her mouth trembled. And then, weak as it was, she smiled.
"Of course I did," she whispered. "You think an ocean can get rid of me that easily?"
My throat closed.
We sat there a long time, rain and thunder filling the silence between us. Abra stirred faintly, its glow flickering, then steadied again.
"They said I'll be fine," Rin murmured. "Just cuts. Bruises. A concussion, maybe." She tried to laugh, but winced instead. "Grandparents are coming for me. From Saffron. They're sending a car."
"Good," I said. My voice sounded foreign in my own ears. "That's good."
She studied me, eyes sharp even through exhaustion. "And your aunt?"
My chest tightened. I forced my gaze steady. "She's strong. She's got a team. She'll be fine."
The lie sat heavy on my tongue. But I couldn't let it show. Not to her.
The car came at dusk.
It wasn't like the wagons that rattled through the mud, or the League supply trucks painted with insignia. This one gleamed black even under the rain, tires high, armored plating catching the lantern light. Its engine purred low, smooth, out of place among the chaos.
The driver leapt out to hold an umbrella. And behind him, a man stepped into the storm.
Tall, silver-haired, his coat pressed and immaculate despite the rain. His eyes swept the camp with practiced disdain until they softened on Rin.
"Grandfather," she breathed.
"Rin." His voice was rich, deep, the kind that expected to be obeyed. "We feared the worst."
He crossed the mud without hesitation, lifted her gently into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Abra stirred, and he nodded respectfully to it before tucking both into the waiting car.
I stood back, rain plastering my hair to my face, coat heavy, chest hollow.
Rin looked at me through the open door. Her lips parted, but no words came. Just that same faint, stubborn smile.
Then the door shut.
The engine growled. The car rolled away, wheels cutting clean through the mud, vanishing into the storm beyond the lantern light.